Christmas
by murderofonerose
Summary: Nathan's first babysitter.


**Warning:** contains exactly one small child  
**Characters:** Oscar and Rose Explosion, baby Nathan, Charles  
**Words:** 1446  
**Disclaimer:** I own nothing.

I was trying to get this finished before the end of December so I could post it on the lj comm Brutalbusiness for the theme month. Work conspired against me... Damn you, retail at Christmas time. But I have this much done, along with a lame title because my brain is a little dead right now, so there's that.

* * *

**Christmas**

* * *

Oscar watched, exasperated, as Rose fussed over their five year old son. Nathan didn't seem to mind or care, so what was the point of telling him to behave for the babysitter?

"Maybe we shouldn't leave him alone with a stranger," Rose said for about the hundredth time in the past half hour. "I could just stay here, and you could go to the party—"

"We're both going," Oscar interrupted firmly, also for the hundredth time. Rose was the one who had wanted to go to the stupid Christmas party in the first place, and by god he was not going to suffer through it alone. "This kid was highly recommended. He can handle the boy. It'll be fine."

The doorbell rang, interrupting whatever further protest Rose was prepared to make. She switched instantly into hostess mode and rushed off to answer it, festive holiday sweatshirt jangling. Oscar rolled his eyes and stuffed his hands in his pockets impatiently.

He met Nathan's disinterested, slightly sullen gaze. "Your mother," he said gruffly. "I don't think I'll ever understand her."

Nathan continued to stare at him.

Oscar realized that he would probably never understand his son, either.

Oh well.

Rose bustled back into the living room, the babysitter trailing behind her. "He's just not very talkative," she was saying. "But he's a lovely boy, and very well behaved."

"He doesn't do much of anything in general," Oscar added, and received a reproachful look from his wife.

"Anyway," she continued loudly, "I hear you're a very responsible young man, Charles… How old are you, exactly? You just look a little young, that's all."

The babysitter was by no means very impressive to look at. His glasses, neatly combed brown hair, and sensible clothes marked him clearly as a bookworm, though not necessarily a nerd – for that, he lacked the requisite pocket-protector. But the way he spoke held a particular note of level-headed confidence that somehow managed to reassure the Explosions with a single word.

"Thirteen," Charles replied.

Rose smiled. "And you're in high school? You skipped a grade?"

"Yes, that's right." He set his book bag down on the coffee table, careful not to upset any of Oscar's hunting and sports magazines, adjusted his glasses and returned the smile with a small, business-like one of his own. "I started babysitting last year to start saving up for law school."

"Well aren't you just a little achiever," Rose said approvingly.

She was already slipping into that patronizing, half-croon of hers that most people reserved for addressing infants. Oscar half expected her to pinch the kid's cheek, and no man deserved that – not even a young, geeky-looking one.

"We're going to be late if we don't leave soon, Rose."

"Oh, right." She walked over to Nathan and smoothed his hair fussily. "This is Nathan, of course. Honey, this is Charles… Can you say hello to Charles?"

Nathan looked up at her, then at Charles.

"I've left out some videos for him to watch," Rose continued. "The Christmas ones that he likes. There are some leftovers in the fridge, and he can have whatever he wants as long as he has some vegetables too. Bedtime is at eight o'clock. Oh, and the emergency contact information is on the fridge."

"I'll be sure to look at that," Charles replied. He didn't blink; he was in the middle of a staring contest with Nathan.

"Rose," Oscar insisted impatiently.

"I'm coming, I'm coming." She straightened her reindeer sweatshirt (which didn't need straightening) with a jingle and grabbed her purse. "We'll be back around eight or nine. Probably eight thirty."

Nathan blinked. His look of intense concentration was gradually replaced by a dissatisfied frown as he realized that meant he'd lost.

Charles glanced up at Rose. "All right, Mrs. Explosion, I'll see you then. Have a nice evening."

"Oh, and you'll have to give him a bath," she added, even as Oscar was hustling her out of the room. "I put instructions on the fridge, too. And make sure to tuck him in and read him a bedtime story!"

* * *

Ten minutes and several more last minute instructions (as well as a hasty negotiation of payment that went in Charles' favor), the Explosion's car pulled out of the driveway. Charles, standing on his tiptoes to see out the window in the front door and holding tightly to the doorknob to keep from falling over, watched the station wagon disappear around the corner. When he dropped back down and turned, he found Nathan standing in the hallway directly behind him, staring.

According to Mrs. Explosion the boy had never been separated from both of his parents at once before, so it was possible Nathan didn't really understand what was going on. In Charles' experience, that meant lots of pestering and testing of his authority. It was actually kind of a relief to get to skip that part, although Charles wasn't sure if he was being inspected or looked right through. _That_ was a little creepy… but it would have been more so if he hadn't grown up in a house full of cats.

"Why don't we watch one of those Christmas movies?" he suggested, and now he was sure that Nathan was looking at him. Those eyes followed Charles as he headed back down the hallway, and a quick glance over his shoulder a moment later confirmed that Nathan was trailing after him.

After a quick detour to the kitchen to inspect the veritable encyclopedia of instructions – the joys of being the first babysitter, Charles thought to himself dryly – they went back to the living room and Nathan plopped down expectantly in front of the television. Charles put one of the tapes that Mrs. Explosion had left out on the coffee table into the VCR and moved back to settle himself on the couch to work on homework.

* * *

Nathan didn't actually like Christmas movies. He liked the holiday itself because he got presents, like on his birthday only with more cookies and candy canes. (The candy canes, in his opinion, where the best part. They made such a great crunching noise when he chewed on them.) But the movies always had snow to go with the stupid tinsel and flashing lights – and it _never_ snowed in Florida, not once in his entire life. The movies _lied_.

And he resented that, a lot, because snowball fights really looked like fun.

The movie that the babysitter had picked only had one snowball fight, which Nathan watched intently. Little grins flashed across his face whenever someone got hit right in the face. But after that scene he quickly lost interest and started to fidget. Blah blah blah Christmas spirit blah blah blah good will towards men. He made a face at the screen and turned to see what the babysitter thought of this.

Charles wasn't even paying attention! Nathan scowled, sure that this was cheating somehow. The older boy wasn't a parent; he was old, but Nathan's mom had called him young so that meant he was still a kid. And kids watched these movies whether they liked them or not (as Nathan had found out the last time he'd had a temper tantrum at Christmas).

Determined to put a stop to this contradiction, Nathan got up and went to investigate just what Charles seemed to think was so important.

* * *

Again, to took a little while for Charles to notice that Nathan was standing there. The eerie feeling of being _watched_ crept slowly over him, until finally he glanced up, and, sure enough, those bright green eyes were narrowed suspiciously right at him.

He found himself in the middle of another staring contest, wondering if _this_ was actually the reason Rose Explosion had never ventured to hire a babysitter before. So far he hadn't heard Nathan make a single sound; the child was probably destined to grow up to be a cat burglar or, judging from his father's build, a football player.

He was a welcome distraction from pre-calc, though. Charles put his pencil down.

This time Charles was the first to blink. A gloating expression flitted briefly across Nathan's face, then was replaced by a blankly expectant look.

"Um… Don't you want to finish your movie?" Charles asked.

Nathan looked over his shoulder at the TV, which was still playing in the background, then turned back and shook his head. He frowned pointedly down at Charles' notebook.

"Ah." Charles picked up his pencil again and fiddled with it, twirling it absently in his fingers. "I'm just working on some homework."

He wasn't actually expecting any response to this, but Nathan, still frowning, opened his mouth and asked, "… Why?"

* * *

Author's Note: _There were freshmen in my _calc _class, because my public school was the craziest public school. I... just felt like I should say that. -_-_


End file.
